


Masculinity is a Disease

by toothfairy



Category: Pocket Monsters: Sword & Shield | Pokemon Sword & Shield Versions
Genre: Multi, OT4 gang, and now yall get to suffer too, i hope you know this is a crackfic, like i wrote this to make my friend suffer, sharing is caring, there's waxing in this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:48:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26782408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toothfairy/pseuds/toothfairy
Summary: Everyone hears the stories of rich men and their weird kinks. I thought it would never happen to me until it did.
Relationships: Dande | Leon/Rurina | Nessa/Kibana | Raihan/Sonia
Comments: 6
Kudos: 6





	Masculinity is a Disease

**Author's Note:**

> Before you bully me for writing this: I know.

POV: LEON

Everyone hears the stories of rich men and their weird kinks. I thought it would never happen to me until it did. You see, I was born a man - strike one. Strike two was becoming rich from the spoils of Pokemon championships. The third strike came hard and fast, sort of like I did, when a beautiful friend of mine dared me to get a full Brazilian wax. I repeat, a _full_ Brazilian wax, front and back. Please know that masculinity is a disease. It makes your chest swell at the idea that a woman can handle something you never could as a man. At that moment, you’re primed to make one of the worst decisions of your life - “you” meaning myself, of course.

I find myself in a leather chair at Nessa’s place, laid bare and legs spread. Yes, I’ve done this many times before. Suffice to say, it’s always better in the comfort of a friend’s home, rather than in the cold, sterile environment of a posh salon, the faint smell of nail polish in the distance.

“You ready, lover boy?” She coos, hot wax dripping from a fresh popsicle stick.

“You know I am,” I sigh, breathless.

One _RIP!_ Just one, and my back shamefully arches already. It’s true. I’m a fully grown man with an ass-waxing kink. On one hand, if I didn’t have friends who accepted such a grotesque thing, I would be normal, never delving into these twisted pleasures. On the other hand, without their high tolerance for the macabre, I wouldn’t be so painfully satisfied every four to six weeks.

The others stumble in soon after, each with one awful kink of mine in their back pocket. Am I lucky, or am I cursed? What use is there in asking, knowing I’ll succumb to desire either way?

“How far along are you?” Raihan asks, setting down his things on the loveseat behind me.

“I’ve only used one wax strip so far. He’s holding up terribly, as usual. Stop fidgeting so much, it’ll only hurt more,” Nessa reprimands me. I can’t help it if I’m excited, but she has a point.

“You know, you could quit the battle scene and do this full-time, Leon,” Sonia suggests. “People would pay to see whatever this is.”

“Then I would never be able to have any career _other_ than this- agh!” Another ghastly tear. Trying not to cum is starting to feel like an Olympic sport at this rate. It hadn’t registered to me that Sonia was teasing, but when was she not?

 _Oh_ , I can hear Raihan fumbling around in his bag. I know exactly what he’s reaching for: a brush. That’s right, I have seemingly innocuous kinks that anyone can get through airport security. At least this one was borne out of a drunken stupor rather than an idiotic sense of pride. But there’s just something about having the soles of my bare feet brushed that was delicious. All it took was two shots of Hennessy and I was in my bathtub, fully clothed minus my socks, scrubbing myself clean with an exfoliating brush. Two birds one stone, I thought, cleaning myself and my clothes at the same time. The moment I reached my feet, the rest was history.

Sonia has the last key to my heart. Ironically, it’s very close to hers - her breasts. If you would have told me five years ago that I would like to be suffocated to the point of near death by two giant knockers taking refuge on the entirety of my face, I would have considered it but ultimately called the police on you. Now, I see a pair of pearlescent yiddies and hold my breath just to simulate the pheromone rush, the desperation, the muted pleas for mercy. That’s something I don’t have to wait for my hair to grow back to experience. It sustains me until Nessa can rip my soul out of my bussy once more.

“Yo, you good?” Raihan asks. Leon realizes the three of his friends are standing over him, a curious combination of worried, shocked, and smug.

“I thought you all were sitting on the loveseat. Everyone but Nessa, that is.”

“You passed out,” she chimes in. “As I was applying the wax for the third strip, you literally came and fainted at the same time. About ten minutes ago, to be exact. Were you that starved?”

Looking down at the mess of white on his abdomen confirmed it.

_Huh. So I’ve been dreaming in a post-nut haze. Well then._

“I’ve never passed out before. That’s… kind of embarrassing,” I admit.

“Newsflash, this whole thing is embarrassing. But lucky for you, we love you.” Sonia playfully jiggles her jugs as she taunts me. There’s nothing worse than a pretty white woman who knows your secrets. If my dick understood that as well as my brain did, I wouldn’t be laying on a leather chair, top half covered in nut and bottom half covered in wax, nearly half-conscious. Frankly, I don’t know how I go to work everyday and look them square in the face, as if I have dignity.

Ah, to be a rich man with an ass-waxing, foot-brushing, tit-asphyxiating molotov cocktail of kinks. And three friends who are insane enough to entertain the madness.

“No need to tease him while he’s this compromised. Come on, let’s finish the Brazilian or it’ll grow back uneven. I can imagine that would be distracting during a battle,” Nessa notes.

Perhaps I will reminisce on how that last fetish came to be once I inevitably pass out from the fifth wax strip. If there is a God: wish me and my tortured hole good luck, and have mercy on my wretched soul.

**Author's Note:**

> That's it, folks! I wrote this hot mess to torture one friend and entertain whoever else decides to click on this. Feel free to leave a comment if you made it to the end of this mess somehow LOL


End file.
